


I'm Drowned

by shayunknown



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Castiel, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angel Castiel, Dubious Consent, Hunter Dean, Lonely Dean, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Dean, True Mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 07:32:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7036963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shayunknown/pseuds/shayunknown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is in the middle of a hunt when his mark burns its way onto his wrist. Someday that'll mean something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Drowned

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, tropes.
> 
> The mpreg is brief.

Dean doesn’t actually realize what’s happening when his wrist starts to burn – a blinding pain that has him gasping and very nearly dropping his shotgun. John whips around to yell at him because dropping his gun is a fucking stupid thing to do, but he stops with his mouth open when he sees what’s happening. Dean lets the gun fall to the ground and clutches his arm against his chest as he bends in half. It hurts enough to nearly send him to his knees.

“God damn it, Dean,” John growls as he turns around and shoots a round of salt into the ghost that they had finally caught up to. They have been tracking it for days, and while Dean’s no slouch when it comes to hunting, he’s already at a disadvantage and has a hard time getting jobs, and this is only going to make John more unbearable.

Dean’s wrist keeps burning even as he picks his gun back up, pumps it once, and shoots that fucking ghost right between its eyes. John is back at the grave, dumping gas over the mostly decayed body before striking a match and tossing it in. Dean stands at the ready with his gun raised and his eyes darting every which way as he waits for the ghost to reappear. When it doesn’t, he looks over his shoulder at John and waits for his next order.

“We must have missed something.”

Doubtful. They’ve been doing this since before Dean can even remember, and they’ve not fucked up on a hunt like this in years. Ghosts are nothing compared to demons, wendigos, or nearly anything else they’ve been hired to deal with.

His wrist starts aching again, and Dean lowers his gun to look at it. He frowns at the runes carved into his skin, holding his hand out when John stomps over to look. He grabs Dean and yanks his arm up and into the moonlight. The sleeve of John’s leather jacket slides up just enough to reveal the name on his own wrist.

“I can’t read this. It’s Enochian.” He drops Dean’s wrist – more like forcefully throws it – and snaps at him, “You’ll have to go to Bobby. He can translate it.”

“Enochian?” Dean stares at the carving again, swiping the thumb of his other hand over it and wincing as the still raw scabs smart and blood smears. “My soul mate is an angel?”

John rolls his eyes as he turns and walks towards the warn down path that leads through the trees and back to the road. “We have to finish this hunt. Then you can go to Bobby’s.”

* * *

Dean can’t stop staring at it. Every time he catches even the slightest glimpse of the angry red lines, he stops whatever it is he’s doing to just _wonder_.

John gets huffy every time he catches him and orders him to do whatever comes to his mind first just to get Dean back to work. They finish the hunt after two more days of research – too fucking long in Dean’s opinion, and he’s seriously getting sick of people keeping locks of their loved one’s hair and not mentioning it – and it ends much like the first exorcism attempt minus a burning wrist to distract him.

“This could have happened at a better time,” Dean jokes as he gets into the impala, staring over the hood of the car at the truck that John had drove into town in. It is an old, rusting Chevy Colorado and looks like a couple bumps on the road will have it falling apart.

John doesn’t laugh, doesn’t smile. He just tosses his gun across the console to the passenger’s seat before turning and glaring at Dean. “We don’t know enough about _angels –_ “ he spits the word out like it physically hurts him to speak it “– to know how bad this is. They keep their secrets. Talk to Bobby first and figure out the name. Then I want you to call your mother. She’ll want to hear about it from you and not through the grapevine. Don’t tell anyone else. It’s already hard enough to get you work.”

Dean nods and raps his knuckles against the impala once before getting in. They don’t say goodbye or make any plans to meet back up. The next time one of them needs help there will be a phone call, but Dean knows that six days with John Winchester is the most he’ll ever really get.

He waits until John’s truck is nothing more than a dot on the horizon before turning the impala on. The setting light from the sun lands on his bared wrist, and he pulls it back to stare once more at the runes that he still can’t read. The ghost research would probably have gone faster if Dean hadn’t secretly been trying to translate the name on the side. A lot of good that did him. Sammy is the smart one. He probably would have had a name and a location within an hour if he had been there.

It will take him a couple days to get to Bobby’s, and thank fuck for _some_ small mercies. He has four days’ worth of suppressants left, and he isn’t too interested in fucking with that.

He takes the highways when he can, speeding through Colorado, into Nebraska, and then up into South Dakota. He stops at night when he can’t keep his eyes open anymore and checks into some questionable motels. Gets up as early as he can, sticks his weekly syringe full of suppressant into his arm, puts on the scent blocking deodorant, brushes his teeth, and books it before anyone else wakes up.

The guy at checkout looks at him with a dopey grin and black circled eyes as he turns in the keys. He stinks, too. Alpha, and very close to his rut by the look of it. The guy tilts his head back and takes a deep breath, and Dean silently thanks anyone who’s listening that suppressants were invented.

When he is back in the impala, he has to take a couple minutes to get his heart under control and his blood calm. He has half a mind to walk back in that motel and knock the asshole out. Instead, he puts the car into drive and gets the hell out of there. The open highway, with AC/DC blaring, and the windows down and fresh air blowing in, Dean manages to find his peace.

Bobby’s is the same as it always is when Dean pulls in front of the house and kills Baby’s engine. He has only just made it around to grab his bag from the back seat when Bobby throws open the front door and tromps down the steps to greet him.

“Hey, boy, wasn’t planning on seeing you so soon,” he says, voice gruff but with a small smile on his face. He holds out his hand and Dean takes it after the briefest hesitation. Bobby’s smart, the smartest man Dean knows next to John and Sam, and that’s all it takes for him to notice that something is different and his eyes drop down. “I’ll be damned.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, shrugging as he takes his hand back. “I need your help.”

“I should have known something was going on when John called and told me you were headin’ this way.” He leads Dean back to the house and to the spare room that Dean always takes when he crashes there. “Have you told your mom?”

Dean tosses his bag onto the twin bed in the corner of the room and jerks open the zippers to dig out his phone. “Not yet. Figured I’d wait until I actually knew what it said.”

“What, you couldn’t even send her a text?”

He rolls his eyes. “Mom would never be satisfied with just a text. You know that, Bobby.”

“Yeah, but she’ll be pissed if she hears –”

“It through the grapevine. Yeah, I’ve been told. Which is why I’d like to get started on this right away. I’m guessing we’re going to actually need to look through the books if you don’t know what it says?” He finally finds his phone and flips it open. He missed a call from Sam and has a few messages to go through. None from his mom or John, so she must not know about his mark yet.

“I’m not sure about it, no. I’m not as fluent in Enochian. Those angel pricks don’t really give any information out willingly.”

Dean nods. “Yeah, just my luck, huh?” They head to Bobby’s office – library, bar, lounge, what the fuck ever. It’s a mixture of everything. “I need to go to Sioux Falls tomorrow. Think we might have something by then?”

Bobby grunts something at him – a yes, maybe a no – and pulls one of the smaller tomes off of his bookshelf and drops it on his desk. “It depends on how common of a name it is.”

“So that’s a no then.”

Bobby just shrugs and tells Dean to hold out his arm so that he actually knows what the hell to look for. They spend most of the evening like that with their noses buried in the one book on angels and Enochian that Bobby has. Every once in a while, Dean puts his arm back on the desk for Bobby to compare the runes with something, but he always snorts and pushes Dean away a moment later.

“Definitely not common,” Dean says five hours later, just before he yawns and stretches in his seat. His spine pops and he groans in relief. “I can see what Sam thinks. Maybe that fancy school of his has some more info.”

Bobby grabs the glass of whiskey that he has been nursing for most of the night and leans back in his seat. He finishes the glass. “I’m surprised you didn’t go to him first.”

Dean shrugs and grabs his phone, flipping it open and turning on the camera. He takes a picture of his wrist before sending it to Sam. “He’s busy. Finals are coming up, and I didn’t want to bother him.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” Bobby says, smiling.

It’s not until the next morning that Sam responds, and he obviously just looked at the picture and not the text that Dean actually wrote out.

_Sam: Congratulations!!_

Dean drops his head back onto his pillow and blows out a long breath. He rolls onto his back and holds the phone up as he types out a quick reply: _what does it say bitch_.

He’s pretty sure Bobby is already up, so he rolls out of bed and shuffles out of the room and into the bathroom across the hall. He can hear sizzling from the kitchen. Probably bacon, and it’s probably burnt to a crisp and tastes like ash, but he’ll still eat it.

He takes a piss while he brushes his teeth with his free hand. His eyes still stray to the side to stare at his wrist in the mirror above the sink. The runes are scabbed over and healing now, soon they will be a white scar on his skin. He takes the time to wrap some clean bandage around them. If he goes into Sioux Falls with Enochian on his wrist, there’s no telling how people will react if they notice it.

Angels, while not as fucking awful as demons, are still pretty rare and solitary. They usually stay in their angel communities with their families and leave humans and all of the other creatures to live their lives as they see fit. Dean’s only seen two in his lifetime – and they fit the bill of every stereotype he’s ever been told about them. White wings, graceful, prideful… and condescending jackasses. Dean knows he isn’t the smartest guy around and he’d be the first to admit his own faults, but fuck having to listen to someone other than John talk to him like that. John at least has some dumb father alpha trying to keep his omega son safe excuse. Angels just tend to be assholes.

The drive to Sioux Falls is uneventful, and he gets into the city right at noon. The streets are crowded with the lunch rush, and he has to lean back in his seat multiple times and remind himself that he’s not _really_ in a hurry, and the moron driver in front of him doesn’t _really_ deserve to get ran over.

The clinic is busy when he finally pulls into the parking lot. He shuts the car off and heads inside, smiling and holding the door open for a very pregnant omega as he waddles outside. Dean knows it’s stupid, but he still feels weird when he walks into the lobby and strides up to the receptionist. He glances over his shoulder multiple times while he gives the lady his information, trying not to stare at all of the mated couples sitting around and definitely trying to ignore the itch of his healing scab.

“Okay, if you want to just take a seat over there, a nurse will come and get you as soon as they’re ready.”

Dean nods and does as he’s told. He picks a seat close to the door and away from the couples, frowning when a little pup wanders over and takes the open seat next to him. Thank fuck the kid’s mom is paying attention, and he’s quickly herded back to his family.

He leans back in his seat and pulls his phone out of the pocket of his jacket, but he just sits up straight again when he sees that Sam has texted him.

_Sam: Sorry! I didn’t read your text all the way through. I’m not sure what it says. I’ll do some looking when I go to the library after classes._

_Sam: Jerk_

He smiles and snaps the phone shut. He hasn’t seen Sam in person since his little brother went off to college two years ago. The little brat’s own mark had shown up the day he moved into his dorms, and he’d met ‘Jess’ just a few days after. They’ve apparently been hitting it off and spending every available minute together that wasn’t spent studying. Dean hasn’t met Jess yet, but he’s heard Sammy talk about her enough that it feels like he’s known her all of his life.

A good girl with a side that also likes to party, so at least he knows Sam isn’t just sitting holed up in his room all the time. It’s all just… good.

“Dean Winchester?”

Dean looks up and smiles at the nurse waiting for him with a clipboard in her hands. “Yep.”

He goes through the motions of the exam. He’s been going to clinics ever since he presented at 14, so he finds it rather painless and dull. The nurse gets his weight, blood pressure, asks if he’s had any problems with his current suppressants, if he’s let himself have any heats (fuck no), and “Oh, could I see your wrist please?”

He holds up his left arm, palm up, and watches as the nurse unwraps the white bandage and hums at the markings. “At 23, it’s a little strange to see a mark show up,” she says, clicking her tongue as he turns his arm this way and that. “The doctor might have some more questions for you when she gets here. I’m not sure what language this is.”

The nurse lets his arm go and Dean drops his hand on his lap. He tries not to make his smile look _too_ annoyed. “I wasn’t actually expecting to get a mark. I know it’s late.” He picks up the bandage and rewraps it, eager to get the runes hidden again. The doctor will probably want to look at them, but he doesn’t care so long as they are covered _now_.

“Well, Dr. Barnes will be in soon. She might have some information for you. For now, you can just remove your clothes and put this sheet over your lap. Everyone will knock before entering, so you won’t be caught off guard.”

Dean nods – he knows all of this. The nurse leaves, closing the door softly behind her while Dean hops off of the exam table and takes his clothes off. He tosses them onto the chair in the corner of the room and pushes his boots under the chair. The sheet is just some kind of tissue paper and barely covers anything up, but he sits back on the table anyway and drapes the sheet over his lower body.

He watches the second hand on the clock tick around and around as he waits. He kicks his legs back and forth, plays with the edge of the sheet, messes with his hair… anything to keep his mind off of the dumb exam that he has to do.

Six minutes later, there is a knock on the door and after he tells the person to come in, a woman in a white lab coat opens the door. The nurse from before follows her in and shuts the door behind them.

“Hi, Dean. I’m Dr. Barnes. You can call me Pamela,” the doctor says with a smile. She turns and grabs one of the stools near the counter and drags it to the end of the table that Dean is sitting on. “How are you doing?”

Dean shrugs, keeping his eyes on Pamela’s hands as she slips on a pair of gloves. “I’m doing okay.”

Nodding, Pamela moves to the side of the table. “If you could please lay back, I’m going to do an external exam to start with.”

It’s all pretty much the same as every other exam that Dean’s been in. Pamela pokes and prods at his lower stomach while asking about the weather. It’s awkward, it’s stupid, but it’s just enough to make Dean not care _so much_ when Pamela lifts the sheet and cups his balls and asks him to cough.

“Alright, everything looks fine so far. I’m going to do the internal exam now. It’ll be quick.” She sits on the stool and the nurse wheels over a little table that has lube and a speculum on it. “Have you been having any issues with your current suppressants?” Pamela asks even though she had been reading Dean’s chart when she walked in. “I saw that you got a mark recently. Can I take a look at it after we’re done with the exam?”

Dean blinks up at the ceiling, raising his arms up to rest them over his eyes. “Uh, sure.”

“If you could scoot down to the end of the table. Knees up and open, please.”

So fucking awkward.

Pamela stays true to her word, and the exam is done after only a couple minutes. She tells Dean that he can sit up while she tosses the gloves into the bin next to the counter. The nurse takes the little table away and ducks out of the room.

“Can I see your wrist?”

Dean holds out his arm again, his other hand pulling the sheet up closer to his stomach as he gets resituated on the table.

“Oh, this is Enochian,” Pamela says the moment the bandage is off, and she ducks her head closer to get a better look. “That’s pretty rare, actually. Humans and angels don’t mate very often. That’s why it showed up late. Angels usually are a little older before they take their mates.”

Dean tries not to seem too eager for information, but he’s sure he fails because the moment Pamela starts talking he can’t stop fidgeting. “You know about angels?”

Pamela hums an affirmative and leans back, pushing against the floor to scoot her stool back and give Dean some space. “Unfortunately. My experiences with them haven’t been the best.”

“Do you know what this means?” Dean asks, holding his hand up with the mark showing. “I can’t read it.”

“Yeah, it says ‘Castiel’.”

Dean blinks. That almost seems too easy.

“Do you know how I can find an angel? Would any of them even talk to me if I showed up asking questions?”

Pamela laughs as she stands and grabs Dean’s chart. She marks something down before reaching for a pad on the counter. “Depends on who you ask. Angels don’t really spend much time talking to humans, much less hunters.” She eyes the tattoo on Dean’s chest for a moment before she starts to scribble on the pad. “There’s a little community east of here.” She rips the paper from the pad and holds it out. “Here are the directions. It’s a couple hours drive. I also wrote the name down in case you want it.”

Dean takes the paper with a quiet word of thanks.

“And here is your prescription for your suppressants. A weekly dose. Prescription is good for a year until your next exam. Same as before – you’ll get three months worth when you pick it up at the pharmacy.” Another rip, and another paper held out.

“Thanks. This is great,” Dean says.

“If you could just give this paper to the nurse at the desk in the lobby, she’ll check you out. It was nice to meet you, Dean. Good luck with your angel.” Pamela gives him one last smile before slipping out of the room.

* * *

“The hell kind of name is Castiel?” Bobby asks. He’s in front of the stove, cooking up some dinner, but it smells like it might be a failed attempt. Dean thinks it’s some kind of soup.

“An angel name,” Dean says as he digs a couple beers out of the fridge. He pops the caps and gives one to Bobby. “Have you ever met Pamela Barnes? She was my doctor today.”

Bobby nods. “Yeah, she’s a psychic.”

“Really?” Dean walks to the dining table and takes a seat. “Maybe that’s how she read my mark.”

“Could have been,” Bobby says, picking up the wooden spoon on the counter and stirring the soup. “She’s a damn good psychic.”

The conversation lulls as they eat dinner, and while it’s not the best thing Dean’s ever had, he’s grateful for the food and company. While John is his best partner to have on a hunt, he’s not really the best father figure. Having an omega son that’s also a hunter… well, that’s just about the limit of John’s tolerance. When Dean first presented, he was booted out of the house – mom screaming at John the entire time – and he’s lived either with Bobby or in the back seat of the impala ever since.

Sam is still bitter about it all. Poor kid was left to deal with John’s attentions by himself, so Dean can understand. John is intense, for lack of a better term, and it’s easier to deal with him when he’s not alone. Sam left the house as soon as he was able to leave for college. Also helped that Sam’s an alpha, but Dean tries not to feel too envious of that.

An omega’s life isn’t the worst thing to ever live through, but being an omega hunter has to be pretty close. There’s hardly any work coming in for him (“ _Shouldn’t you be at home? Don’t you have some pups waiting for you?”_ ), and Bobby can only intimidate people so much into giving Dean an opportunity before they just stop talking to him all together.

When Dean turned 16 and was legally able to get suppressants without a parent present, he went to the first clinic that he found and got the strongest kind.

“Pamela gave me an address. Some nearby angel community. I think I’ll head out in the morning and see what it’s like,” Dean says more to his bowl of soup than to Bobby. “Maybe see if anyone’s heard of a Castiel.”

Bobby takes a long drink of his beer and just scowls at him. “You’re not stupid enough to think I’m going to just let you leave on your own.”

Dean smiles and shakes his head. “No sir.”

* * *

They hit the road before the sun is even up, and while Dean normally likes to sleep in until he can’t sleep any more, he can’t help but be excited. The mark on his wrist, the knowledge of what it means to have a soul mate, the idea of it being an angel of all things… yeah, he’s just fucking excited.

The highway is mostly empty, so Dean speeds down the road without a care. It’s good having Bobby with him. They talk about recent activity – apparently some woman was having a neighborly dispute with a witch and thought that alone was enough excuse to have the witch killed. Bobby says he turned down more money on that job than he ever wants to remember.

“I found a little bit of stuff on angel mating,” Bobby starts, reaching into the bag at his feet and digging his angel book out. “Figured you might want some idea of what you’re getting into.”

Dean holds the steering wheel steady with one hand, eyes eagerly looking towards the book for a few seconds before darting back to the road. “Hell yeah.”

“They’re more traditional when it comes to mates. The alpha is a leader, omega is the… well, not the leader.”

Dean groans. He’s never been the most obedient person, and the perfect example of that is him being a hunter. “I’m not quitting my job,” he says, already imagining the argument with a faceless Castiel in his mind. “I’m also not getting knocked up.”

Bobby shrugs, but he has a smile on his face. Other than Sam, he’s been the only other person that’s fully supported Dean and his hunting. “I’m not saying you will. I’d actually be pissed if you quit, but you’ll have a bit more pushback from an angel.”

“Well, that’s all I need in my life.”

Snorting, Bobby turns to the next page. “Alpha angels have bigger wings, which is how you actually tell them apart if not by smell. ‘Grooming’ is a thing you might have to do. Something about oil glands, but there’s not a lot of information on it here.” He huffs out a breath through his nose. “Or maybe I am mistranslating it.”

“What the fuck is grooming?” Dean asks just as he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He keeps his eyes on the road as he lifts his hips and digs the phone out. “Heya Sammy,” he answers.

“Hey, Dean. I’m heading to class right now, but I wanted to let you know that I did find some books on angels. Um, I haven’t really had a chance to read them. Almost all of them are in Enochian. I can read most of them alright, but some of it is a challenge.”

“It’s not that big of a deal. I actually figured out what the name is. ‘Castiel’.”

“Oh. Have you told mom?”

Dean sighs and drops his head back for a brief moment before looking back at the road. “Fuck, no. I need to call her.”

“Yeah you do. I have to go, but I’ll text you if I learn anything you might want to know.”

Sam is a good kid – a better kid than Dean had ever hoped to be. The look Bobby is giving him is just another nail in his coffin of ‘not a good kid’. He hangs up his phone and tucks it back into his pocket, waiting for the lecture to start.

“You were supposed to call Mary when you figured out the name.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Don’t _yeah, yeah_ me, ya idgit. If you don’t call her, I’m going to and then she’ll be mad that she didn’t hear it from you.”

“Fine. Fine, I’ll call her when we get to the community.”

* * *

It’s not that Dean really expected to find his mate at the first angel community they come to, but it’s still a bit disappointing when they drive up to a little diner, park the car, and immediately an angel is there asking them what the fuck they want.

Well, it is maybe not asked so bluntly, but Dean gets the picture. He is also grateful that the angel feels like sparing him enough to speak English.

“Um, I’m just trying to find someone,” he says as he gets out of the car.

The angel’s wings rise up behind him as he stumbles to step away, as if being too close to a human would physically harm him. The angel has dark skin, no hair, and a pair of huge fucking wings that Dean is having a really hard time not staring at.

“Why would you be looking for an angel?”

He thinks briefly about showing the name, but with how rare the pairings are and with Pamela’s not so comforting comments in his mind, something stops him. He moves his hands behind his back and grips his bandaged wrist with his other hand.

“Just needing a little help, that’s all.”

The angel doesn’t look like he believes him, and Dean can’t say he’s actually offended. Angels are notoriously cautious, and he really doesn’t expect them to just lay out a red carpet that leads to his mate.

The only problem is… they do the exact opposite. He doesn’t even learn a single name of the angels in that community, and his luck is completely fucked when one of them actually pings him as a hunter. After that it’s like some kind of angel signal has gone out warning every one of them. They refuse to talk to him, turning their backs to him and flaring their wings out and even going so far as leaving a room the moment Dean or Bobby walk in.

Three days they struggle through the community. Bobby is a good man for just sticking around even though he is clearly uncomfortable with it all. He keeps his nose buried in his angel book, but hasn’t come up with anything good since the few paragraphs on mating. Sam sends him a couple of interesting texts about angel wings. Dean isn’t sure he understands it completely, but they have some type of magic attached to them and can somehow put their mates in a trance.

Nope, he definitely doesn’t understand it in the slightest.

They’re tossing their bags into the back seat of the impala a few days after pulling into town when the first angel they spoke to breaks from a little crowd that’s watching them and walks over. “Leaving?” he asks. His wings are back up, held aloft and Dean wonders if it’s some kind of body language that he should translate to _‘bow down to me’_. That’s the only way he can explain the strange urge to get to his knees.

Dean nods, slamming the door shut before stepping up to the driver’s side door. He rests an arm on the top of the car, hoping to keep himself steady and grounded. “Figured I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

The angel hums at him and his wings flutter. It’s really fucking odd.

“Good luck finding that angel,” he says with a smile that can only be described as vindictive.

Dean tries not to let it get to him, but of course it all gets under his skin and has him struggling to focus on anything other than the nearly healed mark on his wrist. He can’t help but wonder if someday…

* * *

“Hello?”

“Hey, mom,” Dean says quietly, ducking his head down and turning away from the crowd at the bar. He presses the phone harder against his ear, struggling to hear anything over the shouting. They’d stopped at the Roadhouse on the way back to Bobby’s, and the evening drinkers are out in force.

“Dean,” Mary says on a sigh, and he can hear some scuffling in the background and a door closing. “How are you?”

“I’m doing okay. Crashing at Bobby’s for a few days. Have you heard from him?” He steps out of the way as someone stumbles down the little hallway on the way to the bathroom. “I wasn’t sure if he’d called you or not.”

“No, I haven’t. Why? Has something happened?”

He sighs and glances over his shoulder, smiling at Jo while she fills a couple glasses with dark beer from the tap. “Yeah, uh. Well, a few days ago I was hunting with dad and something happened.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. I just…” He takes a deep breath and decides to just do it like a Band-Aid. “I got my mark and it’s an angel name.”

There are a couple seconds of silence while Mary takes it in. Dean understands, really. The shock of it would have stumped him too if he hadn’t needed to exercise that fucking ghost.

“I’m very happy for you, Dean,” Mary says finally, and Dean can hear the smile in her voice. “An angel? That seems very rare.”

He laughs. “Yeah, everyone keeps saying that. Bobby went with me to an angel community in South Dakota. Couldn’t get a damn word out of anyone. I’m… not really sure if I’ll even be able to find them.”

“What are you going to do if you do find them?”

He drops his head to the side and lets it smack against the wall that he’s leaning on. He loves his family. He loves his mom. He hates his status and the fact that omegas can’t take care of themselves. Or that no one thinks that they can take care of themselves. Mary doesn’t normally press the issue – out of everyone in their family, she actually supports him the most. She is still his mom, however. She worries and he hates that he’s the cause of it.

“I’m going to keep doing this. Hunting. If we’re true mates, they will understand.”

Mary sighs. “At least if they’re an angel, and if they really _do_ understand, then you won’t be hunting alone anymore,” she says, but she is clearly not convinced. “Though I don’t know that I’ve ever heard of an angel hunting.”

Dean smiles and says he hasn’t either.

* * *

He gets a job hunting another ghost – that’s all he can fucking get now, isn’t it? He drives northeast into Wisconsin, tries not to get too huffy about all of the road construction, and still somehow manages to make it to Door County in record time. He hasn’t been to the area before, and the little shops with their lakeside themes are a little surprising. He drove through Wisconsin once with John when he was little. It had been in winter and he had sworn to himself that he would never do it again. It is completely different in July with green grass instead of white snow, trees covered in leaves, and a warm breeze blowing in from Lake Michigan.

The job is outside of the tourist area, and he’s a little bummed to leave the shores and drive out to the old rickety barn that matches Bobby’s brief description.

It’s not really the job that he’s thinking about, though. There’s another angel community in Door County, and it’s thanks to Bobby that he even has the chance to come out here. It’s been a few weeks since the mark first appeared, and it’s healed into a white scar that is a stark contrast against the rest of his tanned skin, but Dean doesn’t notice it very often anymore. He keeps a leather strap wrapped around his wrist, and he ignores all of the glances he gets. It’s none of their business anyway.

He spends just one day at the barn. It’s a simple job; he didn’t even have to threaten anyone to figure out who the ghost is and where she’s buried.

He heads over to the main house and tells the clients that it’s done, taking their payment with a grin and a wave as he turns and heads back to the impala. He puts his gun back in the trunk before walking around and getting in.

Dean spends less than a day in the angel community. It’s much like the one near Sioux Falls: puffed up wings, glares, and being completely ignored. He’s not able to handle it for as long without Bobby there to remind him why he has to put up with it. He sends Sammy some text messages, but the kid is still his nerdy little brother and is busy studying for his summer classes. His mate, Jess, is apparently taking some with him and when Dean does manage to get him on the phone for a few minutes, she is all Sam wants to talk about.

He'll never say it out loud, but Dean is jealous.

His mate is an angel, and the angels that he’s come across _clearly_ have some kind of angel radio because they all fucking know who he is and not to talk to him. His mate has Dean’s name on his own wrist, but hasn’t bothered to find him.

Yeah, Dean’s jealous and a little pissed off.

“Bobby, please tell me you have something else for me?” Dean says into his phone as he gets back on the highway for the eight-hour drive back to Sioux Falls.

“Not a job, but I found another angel community in Nebraska. Gets easier to find them when you know what you’re looking for,” Bobby answers, voice gruff but it still manages to calm Dean after having to put up with those angels. “It’s right on the border. It’s about four hours southwest of here.”

Dean sighs and wishes he could just go to sleep. Maybe if he slept long enough his mate would get their head out of their ass and come to him.

“Alright. I’m going to stop at yours on my way through. Should be there around midnight.”

* * *

It’s boring job after boring job, angel community after angel community, but Dean still doesn’t find anything. He’s getting more used to the glares and flapping wings, though, and he knows which raised wings mean a threat and which ones mean fear. He knows what color most of the feathers are. White is most common, then white with black tips. He’s seen some with brown wings and some with a golden sheen to them.

All of them have big wings – huge fucking things that have him ducking his head and struggling to stay standing when they spread them out wide in front of him.

Even though he’s starting to learn a little bit about them and their body language, they all still refuse to give him any information, but one angel actually speaks to him for more than a minute and isn’t a complete jackass.

“I’m Dean,” he says when the angel doesn’t immediately sprint out of the door of the diner that Dean stops at for a late super.

“Samandriel,” the angel replies quietly, and his eyes turn to the ground and his small (smaller than the ones Dean is used to seeing anyway) wings droop down a little. Submissive. An omega, then?

“I’m just driving through. I’m looking for someone.”

Samandriel nods. His eyes stay downcast. “Yes, I know.”

Dean stands a little straighter. That’s the first confirmation he’s had of angel radio, or something like angel radio. “I’m looking for Castiel. Have you heard of him?”

“Yes,” he answers in a whisper just before an angel from across the room starts raising hell in Enochian.

The conversation is over before it has really even started, but Dean’s hopes are up with the confirmation that Castiel is… alive? Real? He doesn’t know what the hell he’s happy about, but he just _is_.

Samandriel is herded out of the room by an alpha, and Dean watches through the diner’s windows as he’s led down the sidewalk and out of sight.

Shaking his head, Dean picks a booth and sits down. He looks at the menu and has what he wants picked out within minutes even though he knows it’ll be a bit of a wait before he’s even helped. It’s yet another way for the angels to spite him, he figures.

He eventually gets a burger and a piece of pie that’s almost to die for. He doesn’t know how they do it, but fuck if all of the restaurants and diners that he’s stopped at in the angel communities don’t serve the best food that he’s ever eaten. He’s half convinced that he’ll never be able to fake liking Bobby’s cooking ever again.

He makes sure to leave a big tip. Maybe that’ll help boost his reputation. The angels might be assholes, but at least he isn’t.

Well, at least he isn’t _all the time_.

He heads back outside with a spring in his step and a smile on his face. His baby is waiting at the curb just where he left her, and he gives her hood a loving pat as he slides into the driver’s seat. He’s heading out to Palo Alto next. Bobby doesn’t have any jobs for him, so he might as well go bother his baby brother while he has the time.

He turns up the radio (how could anyone not turn up _Travelling Riverside Blues_?), looking over his shoulder to make sure it’s clear to pull out. He’s already hitting the gas a bit before he even turns back ahead, but a split second is all it takes for him to see that there is a fucking angel just standing right in front of the car.

He slams on the breaks, cursing as the fright hits him and gets his adrenaline pumping.

The angel is just staring at him, and his two huge fucking black as ink wings are spread out wide behind him. His hair is a mess, his trench coat looks ridiculous, and the suit that it’s covering looks rumpled as hell.

Dean throws the car in park and jumps out, ready to rip the angel a new one because _fuck angels_ at this point. They’re all assholes.

“What the hell, man? You can’t just stand in the middle of the fucking road!” he shouts, slamming the door shut as he walks to the front of the car and…

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean stops moving; he has to because that voice is so deep it sounds like the man gargled gravel, and the _scent_.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He has to lean against the impala to keep from falling over. “Holy shit,” he whispers. The smell is mouthwatering, and he has to spend a few seconds basking in it before he can even think about opening his eyes and looking at the angel again.

“I am Castiel,” the angel says, and Dean’s sure his heart has stopped beating. He is dead. This is how he is going to die – in front of an alpha that smells like everything he’s ever dreamed of and has his mate’s name.

He blinks once and the dots slowly connect in his mind. “Oh.” He touches his hand to the leather band on his wrist. “Castiel.” He looks back through the diner, glad to see that no one is standing in the windows gawking at them.

Castiel looks at him like he’s some kind of bug. Typical fucking angels. “You’re a hunter.” he says, eyes dropping to Dean’s chest briefly before looking back up.

Dean smooths a hand over his chest, covering the anti-possession tattoo even though there’s no way that Castiel can see it. “Yeah, I am, and you’re an angel.”

Castiel tilts his head to the side like some ridiculous fucking puppy even though he’s an alpha and an angel and is supposed to be tough shit and not anything like a damn puppy. “I hear you’ve been looking for me.”

“Yeah, for six fucking months. It’s about damn time you showed up,” Dean snips, and somehow finds the will to take another step forward.

Castiel’s wings lift even higher, blocking the sun and putting Dean’s face in shadow. He stops moving immediately.

They stand there in silence, staring at each other while a crowd slowly starts to form around them because apparently angels are assholes and gossips, but Dean hardly notices. Something in the air, something about Castiel, has his attention riveted on the angel. He remembers Sam’s text about their wings having some kind of allure – some kind of power.

“I had things to take care of,” Castiel says like he has every right in the world to keep his mate waiting.

The haze around Dean’s mind fades just enough for him to remember who he is, what he does, and how much he fucking hates posturing alphas. “Yeah, well fuck you, jackass.”

Castiel’s eyes narrow and he is suddenly _right there_ , crowding up to Dean until he’s forced to take a half step back. “You should show me some respect,” he growls, lifting a hand and pressing his palm against the side of Dean’s face.

Dean sucks in a heavy breath, unable to move but loving every damn second of it. Castiel’s wings surround him fully, pulling him in so close that their bodies are pressed together. He opens his eyes, doesn’t even remember closing them, and finds that they aren’t in the middle of the street anymore. Instead, they’re in a dark room that is lit only by candlelight.

“What…” he trails off, blinking and trying to get his eyes to adjust to the darkness. His hands are on Castiel’s bare shoulders. He wonders for a moment if he is delirious, if it is all a dream. It would explain the sudden teleportation, the sudden nakedness. He looks down and sees his alpha’s cock hard between them.

Castiel’s wings stay up, still circled around him but not as tightly so that some light can make its way through and light up their bodies. The soft color highlights Castiel’s body, and Dean doesn’t even try to stop his hands from sliding down the angel’s chest, down his abs, all the way to his hip bones. He can’t take his eyes off of that cock and the knot that he can already see starting to form.

He takes another breath of that intoxicating scent and feels slick trail down his legs. His heart is racing and his mind is not doing any better. It’s stuck, short circuited by the body in front of him, by the arms and wings holding him close.

“You’re going into heat,” Castiel says softly, but Dean can hear the growl behind the words and another rush of slick pours out.

He shakes his head. “No, I can’t be. I’m on suppressants.”

Castiel doesn’t say anything to that, he just moves his hands around Dean’s hips and grips his ass and spreads his cheeks apart. The air is cool against his hole and he gasps at the shock of it.

“You’re going into heat,” Castiel repeats, lips brushing against Dean’s ear.

He groans loudly and tips his head back. Castiel doesn’t waste a moment and dips down to suck hard at Dean’s neck. His hands grip and massage him until one hand moves closer and a finger dips into the wetness and touches his hole.

It doesn’t suddenly doesn’t matter that his suppressants failed, or that a heat that he physically shouldn’t be able to have has him ready to drop on all fours and present. He’s never presented for anyone, but he wants to now. _Oh Fuck,_ does he want to because it’s his alpha’s hands on him. His alpha’s cock pressing against his stomach and rubbing his own hard dick.

“You’re my omega,” Castiel says. His voice is calm, steady, and strong and it sends a shiver down Dean’s spine. Yes, yes he fucking is.

They stumble to the bed, lips catching every piece of skin they touch and sucking in hard bruises. It’s hot and frantic, and Dean’s never felt anything so fucking good in his life.

It’s not long before Castiel is shoving him onto his stomach and forcing his hips off of the mattress and into the air. Dean struggles to get his balance, and he still doesn’t have it when Castiel pushes roughly inside. There’s no preparation, no gentleness in Castiel’s movements as he starts to fuck him, but Dean doesn’t want that anyway.

He thrashes and digs his fingers into the comforter because he has to hold on to _something_. His body jerks higher up on the bed every time Castiel slams into him, his hips hitting Dean’s ass with a loud slap and the wet sound of it has Dean seeing stars.

“ _Mine,_ ” he hears Castiel growl just before teeth sink into his neck.

* * *

“Where are you going?” Castiel asks, brow furrowed as he watches Dean gather his clothes and redress.

Dean smirks at him over his shoulder, but he has to look away before he’s too tempted to crawl back into bed and stay there all day. He’s already been holed up in this room for too long. His phone is still in the impala, which is still sitting in the middle of the street at the diner for all Dean knows. He’s also pretty sure he left it running, so it’s most likely dead or stolen, and even a thoroughly fucked mate lounging naked in bed isn’t enough to keep him from his baby.

“I have to get my car. Sam’s probably worried sick. Bobby might have a job for me,” he mumbles as he pulls on his jeans. He still doesn’t understand how Castiel undressed them, but he’s grateful that he at least has his clothes still.

“A job?”

“Yeah. I usually get one every few days. I was going to go to Palo Alto, but that’s probably out of the cards now. Have to check my phone and see what I’ve missed.” He finds his shirt and puts it on before sitting on the edge of the mattress and finishing with his socks and boots. “This was nice. Great, actually. Can I get your phone number?” He looks back at Castiel, but the twist is too sharp and the multiple bites in his neck sting as the skin pulls. “Jesus, I probably look like a fucking vamp chewed on me.”

He gets up and looks around the room, smiling as his eyes land on the door. “I’m fucking _starved_. I don’t know what angels eat or how often, but a couple pieces of bread in three days _while in heat_ ain’t nearly enough for me.” He turns the knob and looks out of the door. They’re in a house, but fuck if Dean actually knows where that house is. “So, um…”

He finally slows down enough to look at Castiel, turning and leaning against the door’s archway. He crosses his arms over his chest and smiles at the angel staring back at him.

“Phone number?” Dean asks again, just barely refraining from tapping his foot or something equally ridiculous.

Castiel slides out of bed. His wings are a mess of unevenly oiled feathers, with some poking out where they shouldn’t be. They look like someone had dug their hands into them and held on, which Dean is happy to admit to.

“You’re going to keep hunting?” Castiel asks. He grabs a paper and pen from the desk in the corner (definitely not one of the most comfortable places to try and ride an alpha’s cock) and scribbles something on it. He hands it over to Dean with a blank look.

“Thanks.”

He doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s a little disappointed when Castiel lets him leave.

* * *

He stares at the paper that Pamela gives him because hearing her say it out loud somehow isn’t enough for him to believe that any of this is real. It’s there, though, on the paper in his hands. Official.

“You should have come to me immediately when you noticed the suppressants had stopped working,” Pamela says. “It’s not unheard of for omegas to go into heat when they meet their mate for the first time, regardless of suppressants. The brand you’re on is not the strongest on the market. It’s also not birth control.”

Pregnant. He is actually pregnant.

“It’s too late to terminate, but adoption is an option if you’re interested in that.”

“I’m pregnant.”

He doesn’t remember much of the appointment after that, or the drive back to Bobby’s, or the walk to his room where he face plants into his pillow and tries not to cry. Bobby must hear him – or maybe he smells how absolutely fucking wrecked Dean is – and he comes into the room seconds after Dean, quietly asking if he’s alright, but it’s fucking obvious that he isn’t.

“I’m pregnant,” he says, and it’s just as weird now to say as it was at the clinic.

“Maybe we should call your mom.”

He chokes on a laugh because, yeah, his mom is going to _love_ this. She’ll be happy that Dean has to stay home and stop hunting. That they’ll have something to talk about because childbirth is so damn wonderful.

John probably won’t talk to him ever again – a pregnant son? No, he’d probably drop off the map until Dean had the pup.

Sammy will be fine. They’re always there for each other when they really need it.

“And you should call Castiel,” Bobby adds, and Dean’s heart kind of freezes and restarts because of fucking course he’s going to have to call Castiel.

It’s been four months since his heat. Sixty-four days since they actually last saw each other in person. Twenty-seven days since they last talked on the phone. Four days since their last text message.

Castiel is an alpha and an angel, and the bastard is traditional enough that he’ll be happy to have a pup and to have Dean tied to his side for the rest of their lives. Castiel is an ass that doesn’t understand why Dean wants to hunt, and takes sick pleasure in showing up right before Dean makes a kill to take it for himself. He's always gone before Dean can even yell at him. It’s infuriating, and it makes Dean a little sick every time he accepts a client’s payment for a job that _he_ didn’t even do.

The jackass even showed up in the impala once while Dean was driving out to Palo Alto. Just _poof_ there he was. Dean had screamed and nearly drove the car into the ditch. When he had it all under control, Castiel disappeared again.

Their text messages were just as brief. Mostly it was Dean bitching about how uncomfortable a motel bed was, and then Castiel would respond with something as ridiculous as _‘You should be staying with me.’_ Fucking dumb. He is a grown fucking man. An omega, sure, but he can take care of himself and he doesn’t need to crawl back to his alpha every damn night.

Dean rolls onto his back and digs his phone out of his pocket. He dreads doing it, but figures the Band-Aid method is the best choice again.

He can’t call him, though. He’s too much of a coward for that.

_Dean: I’m pregnant._

Simple, honest. It even gets easier to believe every time he says it.He hits send.

He lays there all night with his phone clutched in his hand. He doesn’t know what time he falls asleep, but he knows that Bobby has been in and out of the room multiple times to try and get him to eat.

At some point, he jerks awake. His heart beats steadily against his chest as he blinks into the darkness. At the foot of the bed stands an angel with black wings glittering in the moonlight.

He scoots over on the bed and jerks his head at the empty space. Castiel climbs on, tucking his wings close to his back and laying on his side so that they’re facing each other.

“I wanted to come the moment I got your message,” Castiel whispers. “I wasn’t sure if you would yell again.”

Dean huffs a laugh, but the smile doesn’t last long. “I don’t even know you,” Dean says. His body is shaking, but he can’t help it.

Castiel stretches one wing out and lays it gently around Dean’s body. “I’ll tell you anything.”

“You angels keep your secrets.”

Castiel shrugs. He reaches a hand out and brushes the tips of his fingers over the back of Dean’s hand. “You keep your secrets, too.”

“I’m not going to quit hunting,” Dean says. He wants to move his hand because feeling Castiel’s skin against him is distracting, but he also wants to scoot across the bed and lay as close to him as he possibly can. He settles for the middle ground and leaves his hand where it is.

Castiel rolls his eyes, which is super fucking weird because it’s so fucking human. “Then I’m not going to stop helping you.”

**Author's Note:**

> So many tropes. I may revisit this universe. Not much of the angel lore was included and I am interested in writing it. We'll see.
> 
> Hope you liked it.


End file.
